


Protect

by wanderingsmith



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 13:33:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9125848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingsmith/pseuds/wanderingsmith
Summary: "These men need to be inspired."little AU of the scene





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I ain't got no money, and nobody'd be daft enough to pay me for this. As it is thought, so let it be said; you make the toys, I play with 'em.
> 
> there was a [lovely discourse here](http://villa-kulla.tumblr.com/post/155150865111/okay-so-i-think-this-was-right-around-when-i), which led me to ramble a bit...

He'd known 'teaching' even basic knifeplay was going to take a while, so he'd insisted they start early. For all the good that had done! Billy was annoyed enough after having the whole damn group of fools just walk out on him that he was actually muttering as he stalked to where he knew Goody would be running his class, by now. 

Why the hell had he bothered even trying?? He knew better than to believe white men would listen to him! Even when he was offering to share a skill! Well. Most whites. He looked up when he heard the uneven, downright raggedy, stream of shots, focusing on Goody's shape without needing to think. And immediately feeling better. 

He couldn't remember, anymore, a time when that man's sharply-tilted stance and southerner's colours didn't make the calm he constantly faked turn real. 'Navigating' was the least of things Goody gave him. The ability to truly relax, and the belief that there *were* good people: those things made his life more than just survival, and he could never repay the man enough for teaching him the difference.

He didn't feel like dealing with anyone right then, though, so he stopped against a fence post, far enough back that Chisolm and Faraday ignored him, and where he could just watch. This was a different Goody than the saloon showman, or the soft lover. He knew the man could teach, and still loved the skills involved in shooting, for all that the nightmares took away his pleasure in using them. Had had those cues for making the perfect shot whispered into his ear, the times Goody got it in his head to make Billy as skilled with a riffle as he'd always been with knives. 

Watching him play lines that Billy would bet came from his Confederate teachers, all those years ago, made worry coil up from where it always rested in his gut when they were around people. Too many ways for even innocent people to prod at Goody's wounds. Teaching shooting using the words of men he'd no doubt watched die was anything but innocent. Billy absently patted his pocket, mentally counting up how many smokes he had ready.

He was just debating between their room, nice and private, and the cooler riverside when he heard that goddamned gambler start shouting and swore to himself, hurrying forward as he quickly spun through ideas. Faraday managed to make it to Goody's side before he found a plan he liked and switched his approach to a stalk as he yelled toward Goody, twisting his face up in an annoyed snarl, “Goody! *You* damn well teach those people!” 

He shoved himself between the two men, pretending to ignore the bastard threatening Billy's friend (well, except for the ‘accidental’ elbow he rabbit-punched into the man's side), and jerking the riffle out of the larger man’s hands. “Apparently,” he deliberately faked a ‘chinaman’ accent, still talking too loud, “I too *scary* with knives.” He turned toward the line of men watching his play with wide, shocked eyes, making sure he was between Goody’s stiff form and Faraday’s challenging one. “*I* teach you to *shoot*.” He added an utterly un-faked snarl of bare teeth at the lot of them before quickly checking the damn riffle was loaded as he spun. Goody would give him crap for showing off, but it still made something in him feel *damn* good to snap into that perfect posture Goody'd pounded into him; and slam every shot into the post holding up one of the dummies' head.

He shifted the riffle to safe carry as he saw the sandbag start to tilt, turning to glare at Faraday, knowing he was going to have to deal with him more permanently, and soon, "Goodnight teach me." He turned to the line of men to shout, "You can do that at a THOUSAND yards if you DAMN well want to live!"

“Billy-”

Billy shrugged sharply at Goody’s regretful voice, aiming a quieter tone at him, “You good enough at knives, now, and better teacher. You find them. Shooting easier to teach, I can do how you taught me.” He ignored Faraday’s snort, content that the man was walking away. For now. 

Goody could maybe find his troop of supposed-to-become knifemen and get them to not kill themselves with a blade, able to relate better, or maybe just find a quiet place to breathe until Billy could get to him. Either way would be away from here. Though how he'd get Goody through the end of this...

**Author's Note:**

> alrighty. time to go edit some Mask...


End file.
